Sweet Dreams
by ELAPUSE9
Summary: He knew it was wrong, but he couldn't help. A short story taken place in the medibay with a sleeping Heavy and his doctor by his side.


Title: Sweet Dreams

Series: TF2

Pairings: Heavy/Medic

Author's note: Just a little drabble poorly written for my OTF

He knew it was wrong. From either the aspect of a physician or a trusty member of the RED team, it was wrong in all possible ways.

"Now, Herr Heavy, just lie down…let us see how zhat Uber is vorking on you, ja?"

The last thing holding the nine mercenaries from their ceasefire weekend of personal time and relaxation was the doctor's weekly appointment scheduled on every Friday afternoon. Nine classes would line up outside Medic's office with their number tickets tuck inside their trousers, looking forward to getting this crap done as soon as possible so that they could enjoy their weekends with no gunfire and explosions-as for the Medic himself, he would be humming a tune while enjoying the weekly dissection of his fellow comrades.

"Geeze, doc, come on! I don't wanna see my freaking insides every time before I get to watch my favorite show! I mean, it's just, can't you just put me to rest or something? Here, you can use my bat if you have to! Just take a swing and-"

"The kid's right, doc. I don't figure it necessary for us patients to stay awake in your procedures. Watching your ribs being pulled out just ain't that fun."

Scout and some other mercenaries finally threw out their opinions about the doctor's operation habits that night. Judging from their persistence, they must've been thinking about this for quite a long time-even Heavy approved in a way only Medic could notice. The doctor tried to slip away like he usually did, but the protest group had him cornered in the mess hall-looks like this must have been planned.

Medic gave in eventually. He was half-forced to promise all his team members that in the future, all patients will have the right to choose to be awake or not. Since it wasn't really a restriction, he agreed to take the step back. They won't dare to tell him what to do-they knew better than to piss off their only physician. Anyway, this wasn't going to change the fact that people like Engineer and Heavy will still be willing to watch their own heart transplants-Engineer was always curious of how medical science worked, and Heavy was just into the doctor himself. Just the thought of himself sharing sweet talks with Heavy in a bloodshed operation room can make the German smile.

But this Friday, it was different. Those BLUs were pushing really hard today. Especially that BLU Soldier, hopping around everywhere with a new rocket launcher(who the hell knows where he got that from) that obviously carried more ammo that it used to. Every time he pops up in the sky, he went straight after the RED Medic who just happens to have his guard off. Heavy had to focus his gunfire on the intruder for dozens of times. But just after the BLU Soldier is sent to respawn by the minigun, a BLU Demoman would rush out of nowhere and hit the bio where it really hurts-Medic couldn't even recall how many times he had woke up in the respawn room with his Russian co-worker. He really couldn't.

"Dokter. Feel tired today. Want to sleep during operation."

When it was Heavy's turn to take his physical, he declined the usual dose of local anesthesia. Usually he'd ask to be awake so that he could have private talks with his doctor, share some epic fun moments on the battlefield, or just discuss some arrangements on the upcoming weekend they were going share-and Medic loved to chat with Heavy while doing simple work. They both knew chances like this were little.

"I completely understand, Herr Heavy…I do. You have died many miserable deaths for me today. It's hard to say zhat I feel no guilt at all."

"Nonsense! BLU Soldier try to kill doktor. So Heavy try to kill BLU Soldier. And die lots. Very naturall."

Heavy frowned at the doctor's confession.

"Anyway, I still vant to say zhat I cannot zhank you enough, komrade. Nein, nein, don't sit up…stay down, ja. Zhis shot should grant you a full hour of sweet dreams. You do need some rest."

Medic pulled the syringe away and pat him on the cheeks with his free hand, just he was trying to put an infant to sleep.

"One hour? Doktor used to take only half."

"Hush, you'll need the extra zhirty minutes. Sleep will renew your spirits, I promise."

Heavy's eyelids were already half-way down. He licked his lips and was starting to yawn.

"Thank you, doktor."

"You may start sheep-counting now, mein libeling."

Medic walked over and aimed the medigun hanging from the ceiling at Heavy's chest. He took off his lab coat and rolled up his sleeves. By the time he had finished his own disinfection, Heavy had start to make low, soft slumbering sounds.

The following steps were of no difficulty to Medic. He skipped the part where you take a marker and draw dissection lines on Heavy's chest(it should be fun, but unfortunately the medigun wasn't capable of washing away those lines), and cut open Heavy's vest and shirt. He could have asked Heavy to strip off his tops, but since the medigun can heal both wounds and clothing damage, he just enjoyed himself in the process of ripping his lover's clothes open with a pair of medical scissors. It was a really good sport for the both of them.

Usually at this moment, Heavy would chuckle at the doctor's brutal act and make a comment or two like "Doktor is like animal", but he is currently wandering about in his own dreamland. What a pitty.

Medic removed certain breastbones without hesitation, and exposed the insides of Heavy's chest with ease. That giant baboon heart is still bouncing at a steady rate of 70 times per minute-only Medic knows how it actually went well with the human body. He took the little Uber-forcing gadget off, and checked for possible damages. After what seemed like a thousand battles, the machine was still in perfect condition. Mann co. is really good at building such insane devices.

"Hmph, you and your not-so-human heart seem to be in perfect health condition, Herr Heavy. Would you like a lollipop for zhe bravery of your shots?"

He murmured to himself with eyes gazed on the now asleep Heavy.

The snoring sounds were growing louder. The shot has taken affect for about twenty minutes, so Heavy must be in deep slumber right now-he could probably be dreaming about an amazing killing streak. The Russian bear is currently facing the ceiling with his mouth wide open, and Medic just couldn't find this kind of Heavy more adorable. But what could be the cause of this terrible snoring phenomenon? Thinking that it could've been caused by glossocoma, Medic used both hands and tried to lift Heavy's skull up a little bit. The snoring sound was suddenly not so horrifying anymore, and Heavy's jaw went from slack to normal. Now this is the face Medic used to see in certain mornings.

Perhaps he should find Heavy a pillow, or something to serve as one. He swept around the medibay, but found no such thing. He didn't even find a seat-cushion. At last, he came up with the idea of folding his lab coat and placing it under the sleeping man's head.

It didn't even take him more than five minutes to finish the procedure. All he had to do was to turn the medigun on its highest power, and watch everything on Heavy's chest grow back to its former glory. Now he could just sit back and relax, waiting for the anesthesia's effect to wear off.

But he found himself not moving at all. He was still standing beside the bed where Heavy was lying, and didn't have the will to go anywhere else.

Medic laid one palm on Heavy's cheeks.

He knew it was wrong.

Medic could smell Heavy perfectly. He could draw out the lines of those strong jawbones, feel the sting of shaved sideburns rubbing against his palm. His dumb is pressing those bottom lips of the Russian, feeling hot air breathing out between those lips.

They are already lovers of rich experience, but deep inside, Medic has always found their intercourse not satisfying enough-it was always in a rush. Though the process is perfectly delightful, and their lust for each other has not died down in the least of ways, he still felt that he didn't have enough time to touch Heavy. Not like this. Every morning after certain nights, they always woke up at the first ring of an alarm clock. Both RED and BLU members had signed a contract to start killing each other at 8 A.M. sharp, and no one could change that. Time was not enough even after work hours: they had to rush to the mess hall for routine dining, routine showering and routine equipment maintenance…

Well than, screw the Hippocrates Oath.

He leaned down and kissed those lips, taking his lover's face in both hands. It was deep, but slow-then he turned to dropping tiny kisses on those lips, gradually swallowing the breathe of the slumbering Russian. If Heavy was awake for this, he would take no hesitation to kiss the doctor back and pin Medic onto whatever platform he could find, but sadly he could not. Due to which that it seemed as if Medic was not trying to kiss Heavy, but to devour him-as if he was not kissing another man, but a slice of cheese, a cube of already-melting ice-cream that's dripping all over the place.

He set a hand free from Heavy's jaws without breaking his kiss. His left hand was now exploring the plain of Heavy's chest, circling around his mighty baboon heart, moves as gentle as Heavy would pet his minigun. His chest was just so thick and broad, that Medic even grew jealous of Archimedes. If only he was of a pigeon's size, he'd go and trie to build a nest inside that chest too, even though he is quite aware of how filthy it will be in there.

Oh god, what he is now doing must be wrong. And he believes that is part of the reason why it feels so god dam good.

It seemed like an eternity before Medic finally parted their lips. He felt like he just came back from some dreamland, as if he was the one who just took a dose of anesthesia, not Heavy. He pulled himself together, and looked at the nearby clock-a quarter has passed since he finished the procedure. He actually just spent 15 minutes kissing an unconscious man.

"Vake up, Heavy. Sleepy time is over. Vake up, I said!"

"Wha…Hmph, Doktor? Heavy, fell asleep?"

The tremendous rumbling pulled Heavy back to reality. He opened his eyes, and was greeted with the familiar sight of Medic looking down at him under the ceiling of the medibay.

"You vere quite difficult to vake, komrade. Though I hate to disturb you, but it seems zhat Sniper is already vaiting outside for his physical to be done."

Heavy sat up and rubbed his face. The hour had seemed both short and long-he recalled some scenes of the weird dreams he had. The last thing he could remember about his dream was that he jumped of the balcony of 2Fort with Medic following him, and they slaughtered the BLU offensive classes by hand; there were strange-looking little infants with wings flying in the sky, however. Something even stranger happened after that.

"Doktor. Heavy had strange dream."

"A strange dream, you say? Vhat kind of dream exactly?"

Medic walked to Heavy's side, and patted him on the back.

"Heavy and Doktor kill BLU team babies. But flying babies in sky. And Doktor suddenly kiss Heavy on bridge of 2Fort."

"Vell! Zhat seemed like a perfectly normal dream you vould have, Schatz. Nozthing to be vorried about. Pity zhat it vas babies flying in the sky instead of sandviches."

"Da, sadviche is better. Never had such dream of flying sandvich."

The conversation went on as they headed for the door.

"Everyzthing inside you is in perfect condition. But anyvay, if you feel any sort of discomfort, contact me at once. I should be in mein office."

"Of course. Doktor is good doktor. Solves all problems."

"I try my best." Medic opened the door, and made a "farewell" gesture. "And please. You must come and solve mein problems tonight."


End file.
